Red Rumps and Red Planets

It was a weekend of sadness and joy, of loss and of sharing.

Friday brought the terrible news that our beloved red rump parakeet Ruby had reached the point where her chest infection, which had seen her spend three days in an oxygen tent at the beginning of the week, had reached the end of the line, and so with very heavy hearts we agreed to the vet's advice that the kindest thing would be to have her put down.

Those of you who have or have ever owned pets will no doubt feel the same pang of loss, of sorrow that descended on us, and those who never have will wonder what all the fuss is about, but the fact remains that we will miss Ruby's unique character, her personality, her look of absolute hatred at me whenever it was time to capture her and clip her nails, and her melodious tones that used to serenade us from dawn until dusk.

Spark, her partner, is doing a grand job of filling in the missing notes, and has set about adopting us as his flock now that he's on his own in the cage. We're only too happy to oblige.

Saturday brought smiles as we ventured up to the O2 arena to see Jeff Wayne's The War of the Worlds in all its live glory. It was my third time, and the best yet, not only because of the enhanced special effects, but because I got to share it with the people who mean the most to me, Deborah, Kez and Tav.

Such is life, though, the ups and the downs, the peaks and the troughs, the deaths and the martian invasions, all of which make it a wonderful experience, best shared with loved ones.

Good Times

Time, once again, flies by at an unfeasible rate of knots.

The last four weeks have seen a myriad of great things happen. We spent the weekend in London with friends from LA, Fangoria turned 30, Tav has had his final day of compulsory schooling, I've finished the second revision of the book, and we are all off to see Jeff Wayne's War of the Worlds live at the O2 Arena this Saturday.

Good times.

Since the last entry I've found myself writing entries in my head, but I must discipline myself to actually translate these thoughts to the screen rather than keep them to myself.

I have flashes of memories that seem relevant. Like discovering issue 49 of Fango in a dark and dingy newagents in Nottingham in 1984, or standing staring at the sea in the darkness listening to yearzero for the first time, or the first time I fell asleep with Deborah in my arms.

All things that are forever resident in my mind, and that make me what and who I am.

Good times. And may there be many more to make many more memories.